


Heartbeat

by orlesiantitans



Category: Carnival Row (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, First Oral, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-12-07 19:41:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20981309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orlesiantitans/pseuds/orlesiantitans
Summary: She knows what he intends to do, of course, has heard it whispered of before. It is terribly improper, and she thinks to tell him so for a moment – but everything they do is improper. She is a human, and he a puck, and on a nightly basis she has him in the most primal fashion. It is not proper, but it is wonderful. She finds her cares about propriety drift further and further from her mind each and every day.





	Heartbeat

Agreus’ mouth is at her neck, and Imogen tries, _desperately_ tries to get his breeches off, fingers fumbling with them before he pulls them away and puts them above her head. It’s frustrating – not least because he _knows_ what she wants, and _continues_ to tease her while denying it. She wonders, perhaps, if all he wants is to kiss – things _had _been busy since they’d left – but that thought leaves as he starts to undo her dress with a deftness that is simply _unfair_ in a man. But she moves with him, cooperates, because if he’s taking her dress off that almost _certainly_ means he’s finally going to get inside of her, and she needs him inside her.

The sooner the better, really.

Which is why her confusion only builds when he finally gets her naked but still keeps her from removing his clothing. His kisses drift lower, which is not entirely unfamiliar. He’s fond of taking a nipple into his mouth as he takes her, she’s found, but he doesn’t stop at her breasts. Lower and lower, over the flat, trembling plane of her belly until he finds soft blonde curls between her legs, damp from his kisses.

She knows what he intends to do, of course, has heard it whispered of before. It is terribly improper, and she thinks to tell him so for a moment – but everything they do is improper. She is a human, and he a puck, and on a nightly basis she has him in the most primal fashion. It is not _proper_, but it is _wonderful_. She finds her cares about propriety drift further and further from her mind each and every day.

“May I?” he asks, and his voice is so _low_, so thick with lust (perhaps even more so than when he speaks when he is inside her, normally just a low groan of her name as he spills). Eyes wide, Imogen nods, not trusting her voice, and she watches as he dips his head, spreads her folds, and nuzzles against the inside of them. His hand moves to her hips, holding them down – the eroticism of him, still fully dressed before her, is almost too much to bear – and it’s the pressure of his lips that keeps her open, then.

First, they trace over a place she knows well – better, now that Agreus has been there _so many times_ – and then up, almost to the apex of her womanhood, to the little pearl that often tingles as he takes her. She shivers when he kisses it, and the noise that leaves her when his tongue traces it is _lewd_, hand flying down to his hair, hips trying desperately to twitch underneath the arm that holds them down.

“_Agreus,”_ she whimpers, and she feels him – as much as hears him – groan against her, moving closer than she’d thought possible, licking deeper into her and pressing two fingers of his free hand inside of her. He moves them, just slightly, to press against the front wall. For a moment, Imogen is without words – without noise – she simply stares up at the ceiling, lips open in a silent scream. She feels as though she is floating, for one absurd moment, as though she has sprouted wings and is flying through the air. Then he gives one final lick and she is cut loose, left to land with only her lover’s hands to catch her.

They are hands she trusts, however, and when she moves away – still twitching – she runs a hand through his tightly curled hair. His eyes are dark when they meet hers, and she feels as though her arousal would return simply from seeing him like that. Dark eyes, wet lips, almost undone but for the string of control he holds tightly onto. She knows he’s aroused, can see it, but when she reaches for him her hand is pushed away.

“This was for you,” he murmurs, brushing a hand through her hair, and any protest she might have had to such a notion is stolen away by his lips on hers. For a moment, she enjoys it, and then she tastes…

“Martyr! That is foul!” she exclaims, pulling back and making a face. Agreus stares at her a moment before he laughs, and she wants to glare but for the taste of herself on her lips, salt and something she cannot distinguish on her lips.

Still laughing even when she feels she finally can make an expression other than disgust, Agreus’ lips twitch up into a softer smile.

“I thought it was the sweetest delicacy a man could taste. The taste of your musk, with faint undertones of sweat and p-”

“No, thank you, I do not need a detailed description of what you just kissed me with. Keep it to yourself. Not all of us have your senses, and not all of us need them,” she tells him, and he just smiles and fetches himself a glass of water, seemingly inhaling the liquid within. She’s always fascinated by how fast he eats and drinks now that it is only her company he is in, and it warms her to the core – he trusts her, shows her the parts he keeps hidden, and apparently puts his mouth on her.

She glances down at the front of his trousers again. Though he seems less aroused than before, there is still some evidence, and she wonders if she could put him in her mouth. She makes a face.

“What is it? Do you need water?” he asks, looking concerned, and she shakes her head.

“No, I only-” she sighs in embarrassment. “-I only wondered if perhaps women could do the same for men. However, you barely fit in the place you are supposed to go, let alone anywhere else.”

Her cheeks are aflame, and he moves to lie next to her, hand stroking across her cheek. “You forget, my dear, that this was for you. I admit I got enjoyment out of seeing it, but I would never make you do something you do not feel comfortable doing. I am not that kind of man.”

“I know,” she assures him, quickly. “It was my own mind that went there, Agreus.”

She feels that her mind has already slowed down, however, ready for sleep. She nuzzles into the space under his chin, hearing the steady thrum of his pulse under her ear. It’s a comforting sound, the sound of life, of safety. He is her husband in all the ways but the paper the authorities felt they needed. She sighs.

“Goodnight, Agreus,” she whispers.

“And goodnight to you, Imogen.”

**Author's Note:**

> *continues churning Carnival Row fics out like a fic machine*
> 
> Whoops. Hope you enjoyed! Got a few comments and kudos and just had to come sliding back out to continue building on the number of works.
> 
> Also, I wrote the first Explicit fic in the fandom. I am both proud and ashamed of myself.


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